


Salomé

by Babylon (Baby_L0N)



Category: Far Cry 5, Salomé - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Although I Can Totally See John Casually Quoting Oscar Wilde, Blasphemy, F/M, Grievous Overuse of Quotes, John the Baptist as Salomé, Love at First Sight, Mute Rook, Role Reversal, Rook as Jokanaan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baby_L0N/pseuds/Babylon
Summary: It was taking a considerable amount of force to convince people that Joseph was the second coming of Christ and the end was nigh. For all his role in the fight, John had never even set eyes on the little bird Rook, the Resistance’s shiniest toy solider, the Father’s most rebellious daughter. Once he does, though…
Relationships: Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed
Kudos: 10





	Salomé

**Author's Note:**

> this piece would have been 500 words shorter if I cut back on the quotes, but I love Salomé’s comparisons too much and had to leave them in.
> 
> please enjoy my work here and, if you haven’t already, go read Oscar Wilde’s Salomé! it’s beautiful and morbid. there was only so much I could do to do it justice in this little crossover.

John stepped out of the megaron quickly but quietly, already taking a few deep breaths and counting to ten in a poor attempt to assuage his building wrath and envy.

He had heard enough of the accomplishments of Faith and her Bliss for one evening.

If one more Chosen brought up how many sinners in the Henbane River region had “repented” and seen the light –when really they were just driven out of their minds by drugs and torture– he was going to scream.

Could they really be counted among the saved if they lacked the mental capacity to know that they were saved? His methods had a lower success rate to be certain, but they left the mind of the baptized intact.

Even this feast was in Faith’s honor, in celebration of her recent capture of the Resistance soldier known only as the Rook.

John didn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

This one little bird was causing trouble for each and every one of the Heralds, flitting about Hope leaving death and destruction in her wake. Yet Joseph demanded she be captured, not killed.

Faith was all for conversion from the beginning, already enamored with the warrior woman.

Jacob protested but quickly dropped the issue, determining Rook would either pass his trials or die in the process. Which one it was would be God’s will. Joseph must have a tremendous amount of faith in his pet heathen, for he did not protest.

But when John very subtly suggested simply drowning them in the waters of baptism, he was reprimanded.

“You have to love them, John. Do not let your sin prevent that,” Joseph had commanded. What did that even mean?

Well, he had the time… Why not find out?

“Chosen, where is my sister’s prized captive?” John asked one of the exterior guards. Faith’s Gate was always crawling with guards, given the fragile, noncombative nature of its Herald.

The Chosen looked to one of his fellow guards in confusion before pointing his spear at John’s feet. “Right below you, Herald, in an old cistern.”

John looked down to find he was indeed standing on a round covering of sorts. When he stepped off of it and pried it open, he found himself staring into a black hole.

What a strange prison! Why imprison her in a cistern when a locked cell would do?

Was his brother afraid of this little bird? No, impossible.

Joseph had no fear except for fear of God. Even as a child, He never cowered and cried under their father’s rod as John had. Instead, He bore them with the grace of a martyr. It was no wonder He grew up to be the messiah.

So what did He feel for Rook, if not fear?

John’s best guess? Yearning.

It was damn near blasphemy to say, but it made sense. Joseph had to give up a wife and a family in order to cleanse the sins of the world. He had to give up being _a_ father to be _the_ Father. Still, want of child defined him. And what a rebellious daughter was the Rook.

Which begged the question... What kind of woman was this little bird, to awaken such mortal longings in his otherwise ethereal brother?

“How quiet she is. Not a single whimper or rattle of chains,” John remarked, peering down into the cistern. His own words echoed back to him, but still the darkness did not shift or defend itself.

If he were thrown into a such a dark and dank dungeon, he would howl at the moon and shout obscenities at anyone with ears to hear. This silence was all the more unnerving.

“Does she speak often?” He directed this question at the Chosen, since he wasn’t going to get an answering call from the bird herself.

“No, Herald. She is silent even when the Father and Sister Faith visit her. She always gives me a nod of thanks for bringing her food, though.” The Chosen spoke softly of her, as if he feared his words would offend the little bird, and she would fly out to peck out his eyes.

“I wish to see this bird,” John declared, raising himself to his full height once more, “I desire to speak to her.”

“That is impossible, Herald.” The guards held steadfast, standing at attention as a wall between him and what he wanted. That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.

“And why is that?” John bristled, crossing his arms over his chest. It took a considerable amount of effort to resist the urge to stomp his foot like a child that had been denied a new toy.

“Herald Faith has forbidden anyone talk to her.” _Faith, Faith, Faith!_ She surpassed her predecessors in more than one way... She sure grated on his last nerve more than any of the rest.

“In case you have forgotten, I am a Herald as well. And I order you bring out the Rook.”

“Herald, please do not require this of us.” Another one of the Chosen chimed in, bordering on begging.

“You keep me waiting!” Still, not a single guard came forward to fulfill his request.

John grit his teeth and bit back a snarl. It wouldn’t do to appear so unhinged among the Chosen… Especially when they were just following orders.

Instead, he looked into the eyes of each of the guards, searching for a weak link, when he came across a familiar face.

“Holly? Holly, is that you?” Sure enough, the woman startled at the mention of her name.

Most followers were referred to by their rank, whether that be recruit, follower, or Chosen elite, rather than by name. Only Joseph was capable of knowing the name of everyone in the room at any given time. Yet another one of His blessings from the Lord.

John took a few steps closer –too close, really– and examined her lowered face for something he could use.

“Holly! You will do this thing for me, will you not?” John cooed, coming forward to take one of her hands in both of his.

“I cannot.” She said, sounding strangled. Suiting, considering how she was holding onto him like a drowning woman. He could work with that.

“I have always been kind to you, Holly. I just want to see this sinner. Perhaps I can help her the way I have helped you in the past. Don’t you want to help others, Holly? Don’t you want to help me?”

“Yes, Herald, but I cannot help you with this. My Herald has expressly forbidden it.”

“You were mine before you were Faith’s,” he reminded her softly.

That was before Joseph reassigned Holly after He caught wind of their little meetings in the dark waking hours of night.

John could tell by the look on her face that she missed being his as much as he hated that she was now Faith’s. It added insult to injury, although that likely wasn’t Joseph’s intention.

“You will do this thing for me, Holly. You know that you will do this thing for me.”

He could see it in her eyes when she finally cracked, could feel it in the breath of air against his face as she sighed in defeat.

“Bring out the Rook. Herald John wishes to speak to her.”

John dropped Holly’s hand and turned back towards the opening of the cistern. As soon as the order was given by a fellow guard, the others fell in line, gathering some rope and lowering a loop down into the inky darkness of the cistern.

It was no surprise. They were followers in all ways and good at listening to directions. They wouldn’t be counted among Joseph’s elite soldiers if they weren’t.

They were likely just waiting on a scapegoat. If Faith or one of her high priestesses wandered out in search of him and found her direct order being disobeyed, pointing to John would be fruitless. Pointing to Holly, however… She would bear all their sins and break under the weight.

John would still get what he wanted in the end, though. He always did.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the guard lifted the Rook from her prison until she was out of the darkness and brought to the light. And what a sight she was to behold.

Glistening with rainwater under the moonlight and torch fire, she was beautiful and terrible. She was the personification of truth climbing out of her well to shame mankind. Democritus was right.

_Joseph_ was right. _You have to love them, John._ That’s what He said. Was that a command or a premonition? For he did love her, as terrible as she was.

He had to have her. He had to _save_ her, just as Joseph said she needed to be saved.

His sister would open her up and hollow her out before stitching her back up. She would turn her into an empty vessel to be filled with drugs and the Word of Joseph.

In comparison, his desire to cut her open and pour her worst fears inside, so they may face them together, was… Merciful.

Taking the little sinner under his wing, into his waters, would be a kindness. Probably one she didn’t deserve, but offering it anyway was what made him a holy man.

He just needed to convince Joseph… He just needed to convince _Rook_ that she was better off under his care.

And there was nothing women loved more than pretty words. Even holy women. Even cavalry women.

“Rook, I am amorous of your body! Your body is white like the lilies of a field that the mower has never mowed. Your body is white like the snows that lie on the mountains of Judaea and come down into the valleys.

“Neither the roses in the perfumed garden of the Queen of Arabia, nor the feet of the dawn when they light on the leaves, nor the breast of the moon when she lies on the breast of the sea are not so white as your body…. There is nothing in the world so white as your body.

“Let me touch your body,” he asked, reaching out to trail his fingertips over the edge of her torn linen peplos.

He could feel the eyes of the Chosen, Holly included, boring into his back. But he was a Herald, a holy man, and they were in no position to talk of his sins. Not when he knew theirs and absolved them. And, oh Lord, they were plenty, and lust was chief among them.

Rook’s sin wasn’t lust, though… It was _wrath_. She didn’t say a single word in response. She only lashed out, rapping the chain of her shackles hard across his knuckles.

John recoiled with a hiss, holding his throbbing hand to his chest. The Chosen stepped forward with a shocked, “Herald!” They looked fully prepared to throw the little bird back in her cage, but John waved them off with his uninjured hand.

“Your body is hideous,” he decried. “It is like the body of a leper. It is like a plastered wall where vipers have crawled and scorpions have made their nest. It is like a whitened sepulchre full of loathsome things. It is horrible! Your body is horrible!”

In truth, it served him right for complimenting a woman on her body before anything else. Still, his pride was wounded, and he felt the need to wound hers in turn.

John waited for the pain to subside before he tried again, circling her like a crow would a dove.

Rook tensed and narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t turn to follow his movements. She probably didn’t want to appear as prey. Too bad, really.

“It is of your hair that I am enamored, Rook. Your hair is like the clusters of black grapes that hang from the vine-trees of Edom in the land of the Edomites. Your hair is like the great cedars of Lebanon that give their shade to the lions and to the robbers who would hide themselves by day.

“The long black nights, when the moon hides her face, when the stars are afraid, are not so black. The silence that dwells in the forest is not so black. There is nothing in the world so black as your hair...

“Let me touch your hair,” John asked without really asking, stopping right behind her before he reached out to her crown of black curls.

Rook lashed out again. This time John was prepared to dodge the swing of her chains, but not the swing of her elbow, which caught him right in the gut and sent him stumbling backwards. He was lucky not to have fallen into the open cistern.

The Chosen awarded her with more than a mere warning for this offense. One struck her across the back with the shaft of his spear with enough force to bring her to her knees. She snarled up at her oppressors, which only served to further draw John’s attention…

“Your hair is horrible. It is covered with mire and dust. It is like a crown of thorns that they have placed on your forehead. It is like a knot of black serpents writhing round your neck. I love not your hair…”

At this point, he wasn’t even sure that the little bird understood what he was saying. Perhaps she truly was a little savage, suckled by a she-wolf like Romulus and Remus. Perhaps violence was her only language. Still, she was a tempting morsel, even in her feral state.

Even when brought low by her capturers, she had enough fire in her to snarl up at them. Which only served to further draw John’s attention…

“It is your mouth that I desire, Rook. Your mouth is like a band of scarlet on a tower of ivory. It is like a pomegranate cut with a knife of ivory. The pomegranate-flowers that blossom in the gardens of Tyre, and are redder than roses, are not so red.

“The red blasts of trumpets that herald the approach of kings, and make afraid the enemy, are not so red. Your mouth is redder than the feet of those who tread the wine in the winepress. Your mouth is redder than the feet of the doves who haunt the temples and are fed by the priests. There is nothing in the world so red as your mouth...

“Let me kiss your mouth.” John was past asking at this point. His speech was little more a statement of intentions now… And the closest thing to a prophesy as he would ever give, seeing as God still wouldn’t talk to him.

He could have sworn Rook falter for a moment before that snarl was back and angrier than ever, showing off two rows of sharp teeth capable of tearing flesh from bone.

It would be unwise to lean in for a kiss now. She would be defanged sooner or later. Sooner, with John’s intervention.

And when she had either laid down her sword or took it up for the family instead…

“I will kiss your mouth, Rook. I will kiss your mouth.” John repeated, passion burning in his eyes and a wide grin –his own show of baring teeth– stretching his cheeks almost to the point of discomfort.

He took a step back, luring the little bird into a false sense of security, emboldening her enough to rise once again.

“John,” he heard his brother, his savior, call from the entrance to the megaron.

It wasn’t his scolding tone, or at least it wasn’t yet, which meant he had time to work his charms. Perhaps if he made a strong enough case for himself, Joseph would agree to order that Faith release the Resistance prisoner to him…

John turned to face Him when he was pounced upon from behind. The Rook swiftly wrapped the chain of her shackles around his neck and pulled it taut. The guards stood to attention a moment too late.

A realization came to him like a knife in the gut. She planned this. All the while he was serenading her, she had been taking in the layout of their surroundings, devising her escape. Still…

“There are no exits for you, child. Release my brother,” Joseph said, holding out a hand as He took a single step closer.

It must be easy to sound so calm and diplomatic when He didn’t have a chain wrapped around His neck. John could do little more than croak as he scratched desperately at his own throat, trying to get a hand, a finger, _something_ beneath the band of iron cutting off his airways.

Rook took them both a step back to maintain the distance between her and the Father. The Chosen took a step forward as well, though, and looked like they might start closing in. She chanced a glance over her shoulder to check for any more guards.

He shivered as he felt her hair brush the nape of his neck.

She half-dragged, half-carried him backwards, until she had her back to the wall. His vision was starting to tunnel from lack of air, blurring the visage of the guards in his periphery.

His world narrowed down to just Joseph and the Chosen in front of him and Rook’s body pressed against his back.

She must have realized that a dead man was going to be no good as a hostage, as she swiftly unwound her shackles from around his head and planted a foot in the middle of his back.

The guards lurched forward to catch him and thus forfeited their only opportunity to catch the little bird. She was up and over the wall facing the Henbane in a matter of seconds, bindings and all.

As soon as he was upright and could breathe again, he rushed to the wall in hopes of catching a glimpse of her flight.

There was no sight of her, though. It was just like peering into the cistern. Nothing but darkness as far as the eye could see. She was still alive, though. He knew it, for rooks didn’t fall but fly.

Whoever went for a stroll in the early hours of tomorrow morning would likely find her washed up along the shore, clothed only in a fishing net, like something out of a Roman myth. A monster. A woman.

“John,” Joseph called out, breaking him out of his revery. John turned towards his brother just in time to watch Him raise His arms, reaching out for him.

Suddenly the reality of what he had just done hit him. He allowed Rook to escape. He insisted the Chosen bring her out of her prison. He turned his back on her, giving her an opening. If not for him, she would have had no hostage to facilitate her leap.

John flew into Joseph’s arms, burning with shame.

“Joseph, I–“ He started to say, but he couldn’t come up with any excuse for his actions other than he wanted something and wouldn’t take no for an answer. And that was nothing new.

“Shhh,” his elder brother hushed him, pressing their foreheads together and gently stroking John’s hair.

John was almost soothed, almost forgiven, when he felt more than heard Joseph heave a heavy sigh. That sigh held both tenderness and disappointment in equal measures.

“I’ll get them back, Joseph. I’ll bring them back into the fold. And I’ll love them, just as you told me to,” John said in a rushed, singular breath. He spoke too low for the guards standing off to the side to hear.

“I know you will, John,” Joseph said, before leaning back to look through him with those angelic blue eyes. The hand in his hair moved forward to caress his face, as compassionate as a kiss. “For if you don’t, the Gates of Eden shall be forever shut to you, John.”


End file.
